Werewolves I Think
by Altsoba
Summary: One brother is infected, the other must get him the help he needs before he changes completely. This mission is complicated by many plot twists and turns that should please. It is finally done! w00t!
1. Out of the Shadows

So, after leaving this story for about a year with just the bare bones of the outline rattling around on my desk, I have decided to come back to it and not only finish it but also give it good revamping. I have sought out some critiques as well as having had some come unbidden which have helped out lots! So kudos to them and I am still welcoming more critiques!

Other than that the same disclaimers apply. I do not own them, and I doubt that they'd be willing to trade a slightly used Hyundai for them...

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"I still don't see it anywhere Dean," Sam whispered into his cell phone, hoping that the creature of whom they were speaking would not hear him. The meadow below them remained suspiciously quiet, the bait they left out to tempt the animal untouched. They managed to climb up into two sturdy trees, keeping themselves out of a direct line of sight and giving them the advantage. Their posts didn't offer much in the way of camouflage as most of the trees did not have their leaves in yet, except for the quakies. They could both see the target easy and there was no place for the creature to hide. The trees also kept them out of claws reach long enough to shoot if they were seen.

"It will come eventually," Dean whispered back. He was positioned across the meadow. They covered the eastern and western sides, leaving only one direction from which the werewolf could enter or plan to make an escape. They hoped.

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The north was blocked by a large dam, which only left the south uncovered, so long as the werewolf couldn't fly or teleport. Dean smiled as he thought this. That would mean the creature wasn't a werewolf after all and they'd probably be screwed anyway, so it wouldn't matter all that much if it could fly.

"It's still too cold out for it to have gotten much in the way of wild game and it's definitely still too cold for any campers aside from those crazy enough to hunt up here. It has to be hungry for something." Dean moved his phone away from his ear, cutting off any response of Sam's that might point out different.

As if the weather were trying to make Sam's point for him, some melting snow slid off the branch above Dean's head and down the back of his shirt. Dean began to thrash wildly, trying desperately to dislodge the half-frozen slush from off his back. Cursing profusely Dean fell ungracefully out of the tree, landing in yet another pile of slushy snow and sliding into the shallow creek running from the dam.

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The rifle Dean was holding before the fall landed with better luck than did Dean, and caught itself in the mixed branches of a few beaver toppled trees. Sam couldn't help it, managing to stifle only the loudest of his laughs as he climbed down from his post to see if his brother had injured himself in his fall. It was too dark to see much of anything, but from the amount of whispered curses that carried back towards Sam he didn't think Deans injuries could extend much farther than wounded pride.

By the time Sam got up to him, Dean had managed to pick himself up. He was digging through the snow trying to find his cell while simultaneously shaking the snow and bits of ice from the creek out of his clothes. Picking the phone up Dean trudged through the shallow water to retrieve his rifle. "I thought it was spring? Why is there still so much damned snow in May? I thought Utah was a damn desert anyway?" Dean's outrage at the audacity of a spring that could still even consider having snow was very apparent. "All the way up here it was nothing but scrub brush and now it seems we are traipsing through the woods to Granma's house for Christmas dinner, whose idea of a cruel joke is that?"

"How 'bout we call it a night?" Sam asked, not bothering to answer Dean's questions; effectively avoiding an argument which would have taken them nowhere. He could hear Dean's teeth chattering in the dark as his sodden clothes tried to freeze. "I think there should be a motel down in Duchesne. At least I thought that's what it was."

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They had stopped in a small town on their way through to Colorado when they heard the rumor of a possible werewolf terrorizing some of the ranch owners, some deer hunters a while back and a few of the day trippers that were hoping to scout out a nice campsite for Memorial day.

Their waitress had been chatty, telling them that if they were headed up to Yellow Pine they'd better be careful because of the animal attacks. The attacks were not something that was native to the town and at first the people had figured it to be a hungry grizzly.

Until they were unable to find a bear, nor any of signs of the beast, there were also the facts that the attacks on the ranches had started in the dead of winter and that they seemed to have a lunar pattern. The brothers heard this from the waitress in between her Utah grammar lessons. "It's Doo-shain, nobody ever gets it right the first time."

With their newfound information on the proper pronunciation of the town, a map of the campgrounds in the area and the hint of a new creature to vanquish the brothers decided to stay and see if they could take care of the problem.

It was a full moon after all, and out of all the monsters they had gone up against recently, a werewolf should have been a piece of cake. This idea stayed with the brothers as they traveled further up the side of the mountain, even though the thin air was cold already and once the sun went down the temperatures dropped to freezing. They also discovered that most of the access roads had still been closed; only a few of the campgrounds being opened, due to the melting snow.

Undeterred, the brothers had set up their trap, convinced that they could take care of the werewolf in one night.

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It seemed, though, that this full moon the werewolf had made other dinner plans, it hadn't shown a hair all night. Leaving the meat where it was Sam and Dean began heading back towards the Impala, Dean slightly in the lead wanting to get to the heater. He paused just long enough to unlock the trunk, letting Sam stash the two guns. Dean slid into the driver's seat, first pulling some dirty clothes out of the back to sit on, and turned the ignition over.

Cranking the heat up and the volume on the stereo he folded himself into the seat, waiting for Sam so they could find a motel and a shower with lots of hot water. He looked again into the backseat, hoping to find his bag so he could at least put on a dry shirt, but came up empty handed. Sighing he glanced down at the clothes he was sitting on to prevent the water from getting on the leather. Thinking about it now he should have checked to see what he could have changed into before he placed them on the seat to sit on.

It was a little late now, his dripping had soaked through already and he could see that it was probably pointless to have put the clothes down in the first place; they weren't helping his seats much now. Cracking the window a bit, he called out to Sam. "Will ya bring me a dry shirt out of the back?" There was no answer, not that Dean was expecting one, he had the sinking suspicion that Sam was probably laughing at his graceful dive into the snow.

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Sam was busy unloading the guns and putting them into the weapons case. He didn't hear Dean's request for a dry shirt over the sounds of the stereo but he didn't need to. Still snickering Sam pulled Dean's bag from the trunk a slight worry in the back of his mind about Dean catching ill and turned. Standing right behind him was the creature that they had been hoping would make an appearance all night. It was close enough for Sam to touch it if he wanted. Neither moved, standing absolutely still.

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"Sam, stop being a slow poke." Dean called through his chattering teeth, wanting to get into that nice hot shower he was dreaming of as soon as possible. His wet clothes were sticking to his skin in that uncomfortable way that only a freezing wet shirt can and the heater, though on full blast, was not helping warm him up much. "Sam?"

There was still no answer from the back of the Impala. Sam had not closed the trunk yet either so Dean's vision was limited in that respect. He glanced into the side mirror, every hunter sense on high alert, all thoughts of a shower gone from his mind. Slowly he pushed the door open, in an attempt to prevent the standard creak and reached into the glove box for the small handgun kept there. "Sam, you better not be playing around or I am so going to kill you," Dean thought. He crawled from the car as quietly as he could, the water in his boots making them squelch.

He left the car and stereo running, masking what little sounds he was making. Crouching low, trying to make himself less noticeable, he drew the weapon out a little in front of himself. It wasn't loaded with silver but the bullets could still penetrate, hopefully giving him time to get to the guns that were loaded with the lethal stuff.

The seconds seemed to crawl as he steeled himself to leap out from the relative safety of beside the wheel well. He couldn't hear anything, except for the rattling as the knife like wind cut through the quakie's leaves and his sodden clothes the same. "Here goes nothing."

Dean jumped into the small square of light coming from the open trunk with a battle cry that would have done well to scare off Viking raiders dying on his lips. The scene that met his eyes was almost peaceful.


	2. Overcome

Don't own them... how sad is the world...

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Peaceful, except for Dean's bag lying on the ground, the spilled bag of M&M's and the lack of Sam.

Dean cursed the volume of his music; he hadn't heard any sort of a struggle while he was in the car. Straining his ears for any sound that was out of context, Dean reached into the trunk, pulling out one of the shotguns and the silver shot. The thrum of the music was still the only out of place sound Dean could hear. The night was still except for the rushing water from the dam and the clattering of the quakie leaves.

"Wait," Dean thought a moment. He shouldn't be able to hear the leaves over the bass on his stereo. Dean turned, sliding one shell into place, the question of Sam's whereabouts no longer an issue.

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Sam ran as fast as he could, so far his luck had been fairly decent. It appeared that the werewolf had just eaten a rather large meal before it made its appearance for the night. Sam was able to make a run for it, but just barely. If it wasn't for his brother's addiction to peanut M&M's Sam was certain he would have been dead.

Just as Sam turned with Dean's bag he noticed the creature behind him. It was sheer luck that Dean's candy was sticking up through the open pouch ready for launching.

Sam slung the candy in the creature's face, catching it off guard. The brightly colored candies flew everywhere as the werewolf ripped the bag off its face. This split second gave Sam enough time to grab the butt of one of the guns and run. Unfortunately, the gun wasn't loaded, and there was still no sign of Dean.

Sam wanted to run back towards the passenger side door, but the angle that the werewolf had come up behind him had cut off that escape rout. Instead Sam angled himself towards the driver's side. He caught a glimpse of Dean leaning into the back seat to look for something before the werewolf hit him from the side. The claws and teeth of the creature barely missed flesh, catching instead the flapping edge of his coat. Sam managed to slide out of the coat without slowing and angled himself back to the meadow.

He could hear the creature not too far behind as he leaped over the stream. Sam was running out of options and wished Dean would hurry and notice his disappearance. Sam sharply turned. The werewolf, in its glutted state, was not so nimble and slid down. It took one angry swipe at Sam before he got too far away.

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Dean cocked his head towards the sound he at first mistook for quakie leaves. The bone rattle seeming to grow louder as he listened. Searching for the source, Dean turned his head and saw Sam barely cresting the hill ahead of the creature. The rattle he had heard was the sound of steel hard claws skitching across the pebbles and stones as the werewolf clambered up the hill.

It was obvious by the way he ran that Sam had a gun, but Dean judged by the fact that his brother had yet to use it that the weapon wasn't loaded.

Stepping away from the trunk, Dean brought his gun level with his chest, taking aim. The driver's side door was still standing open, offering a safe haven for Sam to dive into while he took care of the werewolf.

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Sam noticed the open door, his brother standing weapon at the ready and dove into the car. Slamming the door shut behind him.

The werewolf was not so involved in its current prey to ignore the older Winchester standing with his rifle at the ready. Just as Sam dove into the car, Dean fired the rifle. The werewolf ducked down, as it avoided having its head smeared across the landscape it also readied itself for an attack.

"Shit," Dean mumbled. At least the creature's attention was no longer focused on Sam. Dean backed up until he was touching the trunk of the Impala again. He reached behind him hoping to find more shot. The creature caught Dean's eye, both hunters froze, staring each other down.

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Sam saw the werewolf dodge the shot as he pulled the door closed after him. He waited for a breath, hoping to hear the next shot that would allow the brothers to go home for the night, but it didn't come. The only thing that Sam could hear was the thrum of Metallica booming out of the speakers. He knew, though, that the report of a gun should still be audible over the rock.

He scrambled across the seat to the passenger side of the car. Sam slipped on the wet clothes that Dean had left on the seat as he stumbled out into the open air and slammed the door behind him.

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The sound of the door slamming thrust both hunters back into action. Dean gave up his futile blind search for more shot and pulled the handgun he brought out of the car instead. He knew that Sam would begin loading his weapon the minute he got to the trunk and just hoped that the regular lead shot would keep the werewolf at bay long enough to give Sam the chance.

The werewolf leaped into the air, aiming with deadly accuracy. Dean fired three successive shots at the lunging creature, each hitting it in the chest. None of them seemed to do more than make it angry.

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Sam flew to the trunk grabbing the ammo that Dean had desperately been searching blindly for only moments ago. His hands were shaking as he pulled out the shot, spilling some of it into the bottom of the trunk. It seemed that everything moved through gel as he watched the werewolf race towards Dean. He heard the three shots along with the three wet slaps the bullets made as they entered the flesh of the monster, but still couldn't convince his hands to move faster. Finally, he managed to convince his shaking hands that if they weren't going to move fast then they could at least slide the shells into place. Time sped up again once he was able to manage this, and Sam took aim.

The creature slowed as the bullets penetrated, but it hadn't made that much of a difference in the end. The distance between Dean and the werewolf was small. Even with the decrease in speed, Sam was unable to sight the creature properly. Its trajectory had placed Dean between them.


	3. Stand My Ground

Sadly, I still do not own them. The CW apparently does not want a red Hyundai with fenders of a slightly different shade of red...

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Dean raised his free arm up. Using it to shield his face and neck as the werewolf closed the final distance. He fired blindly at the creature and heard two more slugs hit before the creature landed on him. Claws and teeth tore at his coat. The force the werewolf hit him with pushed them both back up against the side of the Impala. They both slid to the ground, the claws of the werewolf finally meeting up with bare flesh as it continued its onslaught.

Dean aimed the handgun up into the bloody, matted mess of fur on the creature's chest and began to empty the clip. With all of the thrashing he and the creature were doing, he barely felt the kick of the gun.

The first three bullets he fired into the creature fell back onto the ground and Dean's chest. The meal that the werewolf had consumed earlier that night gave it the energy necessary to heal rapidly and push out the lead almost as fast as Dean fired it.

With the clip emptied Dean kicked out at the creature. He could feel the bones in his arm crack as the werewolf proceeded to try to pull his arm out of its socket. It had seemed like hours to Dean before he heard the scuffing crunch of Sam's boots come around the side of Impala. The werewolf froze above Dean, his arm still locked in its blood soaked muzzle.

The werewolf stared at Sam for a long moment before bringing its jaws closed completely on Dean's arm. There was a loud crunch, the snap of pine sap in a fire, followed by the only scream Dean uttered during the entire night.

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Sam watched, helpless, as the creature and Dean slid out of sight behind the edge of the car. He could hear the grunts as the two fought and finally he heard the last rounds in the clip of Dean's gun go off in a rapid tattoo, they kept a pretty good beat with the thrum of whatever song screamed out of the speakers. The worst sound he heard that night was after he looped the few feet around the trunk and took aim at the werewolf that pinned his brother to the ground.

The werewolf stopped moving immediately when it sensed Sam's presence. It stared at him calmly, daring him to make the first move. Everything was brought to Sam's senses with the clarity that only came when his adrenaline was pumping. The clarity that allowed him to hunt well and survive.

Time slowed to a crawl again, forcing Sam to take in everything about the scene. He could see Dean's blood mixed with the werewolf's saliva as it drooled down the creature's muzzle. He could count the three spent bullets that had been healed out. As he watched another bullet slid out of the werewolf's chest landing on Dean's shirt among the blood stains splashed across the front.

Sam noticed that the werewolf's eyes were the same color as a jack-o-lantern. They appeared to glow malevolently from out of its face and were the only things on the creature that weren't covered in blood. They never flinched from Sam's face even as Dean kicked and bucked underneath it.

Without warning, the creature closed its jaws. The dry twig sound of Dean's arm snapping echoed off into the night. Then, the worst sound Sam heard all night. One scream, one cry was all Dean uttered.

Like a cue, that one agony filled cry pulled the trigger on the rifle for Sam. The first shot entering the werewolf's head, pushing through its eye and exploding out the back of its head in a spray of gore. The next shot Sam waited for until Dean pulled himself as far away from the werewolf as he could. His arm still locked in the creature's teeth. Sam shot the werewolf in the heart, placing the still hot muzzle of the rifle into the fur of the creature's chest and firing. Some of it caught in a short-lived fire which went out as the fur receded into the chest of one of the largest men the brothers had ever seen.

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Dean felt the slight jerk of the werewolf's head all the way down to the tips pf his toes it seemed. The pain in his arm was blinding, but he managed to drag himself out from underneath the creature so Sam could finish the job. As Sam walked up to the finally incapacitated monster, Dean used the barrel of his handgun to pry the jaws loose from his arm. He noted with some distaste that the canines had broken off and were sticking up like grotesque splinters from his newly jointed arm. Vaguely he thought about the unpleasantness he was going to feel at their removal, but decided not to think too hard on that thread as he was already trying not to pass out.

Curling his arm close to his body, Dean wondered if it might not be a bad idea to pass out now. With the threat of immanent doom gone for the moment the fingers of the chilly wind had found Dean again. All except for his arm, that particular appendage felt like someone had doused it with acid and then lit it on fire inside of a tanning booth just to be funny.

Lost in his own thoughts, such as they were, Dean was startled when Sam spoke next to his ear.

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"Man, you reek," Sam stated flatly. It was meant to lighten the mood, but there was more than a little truth to the statement. The combination of gunpowder, wet dog, the fishy smell from Dean's earlier dip in the stream, the metallic smell of the blood and the spent adrenaline were not a flattering one.

He noted, with some worry, that the only reaction he gained from Dean was a weak smile. No sarcastic or snide remark. "I know you're not going to like this idea much, but I can't look at your arm out here. I am going to need you to get up and into the car."

Dean nodded his head once in reply, and let Sam help him up. A few moments later Sam had Dean sitting on the passenger's side of the seat. He then left to grab the first aid kit stashed somewhere in the back.

His eyes traced the ground, noting the crushed M&M's. For some reason this made him sad. Seeing their broken shells made him think of his brother, there was no way that Dean could have escaped infection. The colors shattered on the ground began to swirl together and mix. Sam did not realize that his eyes had filled with tears until they began sliding down his face.

He reached down and picked Dean's empty gun up from the ground. The muzzle was caked in blood, a few multicolored shells sticking to it like confetti. Sam carried it to the trunk, his eyes never leaving it. In a way the gun in his hand summed up his older brother completely. The bright colors trying to mask the deadly coldness that their father had instilled inside.

There was a roll of paper towels next to the first aid kit. Sam pulled off a towel and wiped down the barrel of the gun, he would burn it later. Picking up the first aid kit Sam's eye caught on something shiny rolling loose in the trunk. Dean had knocked over their case that held all of their silver shot. Sam lifted the bullet up, letting it glitter in the light. It was the perfect size to fit in the handgun.


	4. Scared

Still they will not take my offers for the Hyundai. His name is Pudin and I tell you that it would be a perfect trade...

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The searing heat from his arm traveled. Slowly devouring his flesh like a forest fire, eating him from the inside out. Already it crept up his neck and breached his head. Dean reached with his good arm and turned the stereo off. His head pounded with a headache that burned behind his eyes. Every beat of his heart seemed to fan those flames.

"Dean?" Sam's questioning voice pulled at him; he hadn't even realized that his eyes were closed until he cracked them up at his brother. Everything was tinged a searing red, further boiling his eyes from the front. "Dean I need to see your arm," Sam's voice seemed off. Dean couldn't place what was wrong with it. It seemed resigned, hopeless.

Dean slowly uncurled his arm from his side, using his good arm to help support it. "Fuck," He hissed through clenched teeth. Never before had he felt anything quite like the pain this bite was causing; he was not looking forward to whatever Sam was planning on doing with that first aid kit.

Still squinting Dean watched Sam lean over with the box of bandages, antiseptics and hopefully some painkillers. His younger brother looked pale and drawn. Dean wasn't sure if it was the infection tingeing his own eyes making Sam's eyes look red or if it was something else.

As Sam leaned over the tail of his shirt rose a bit. If Dean's eyes hadn't been infected, causing his sight to be red, he would never have seen the gun resting against Sam's back.

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Sam stood before Dean with the first aid kit clutched to his chest. He wished that Dean would turn the stereo down; the thrumming bass was making it hard to concentrate. He was going to need all the focus and strength he could muster to do what he needed. "Dean?" Sam called his brother's name. He realized then that the thrumming bass he could hear was his heart pounding in his ears. "Dean, I need to see your arm," Sam didn't like the pallor of Dean's skin, nor the way he kept squinting.

"Fuck," Dean hissed as he uncurled his arm from his body. Sam dropped down to his knees and took Dean's arm. He could see the werewolf's incisors sticking jaggedly through the skin. He could also feel the bones in Dean's forearm grate and shift. He heard Dean suppress a slight groan. Pulling a pair of forceps from the first aid kit Sam glanced up towards his brother's face and froze.

Dean's gaze was locked on something next to Sam's hip, a mixture of emotions flitting across his features ranging from a sick sort of humor to a look of horrified shock. Sam followed Dean's eyes and saw the bulge the handgun made in his shirt.

Sam opened and closed his mouth a few times, making no sound, his head flitting from the gun back to his brothers face and back to the gun again. In his heart, he knew Dean wouldn't want to be one of the creatures that they spent their lives hunting, but he also knew deep down in his heart that he would never be able to kill his own brother. He also had the sinking suspicion that Dean wouldn't let Sam be the one to kill him.

Dean would deny that anything was wrong aside from the broken arm and fangs then he would slink off somewhere to finish the job himself. In Dean's twisted sense of overprotection, he would probably think that this would make it easier on Sam. Not letting him have the guilt of actually pulling the trigger.

"Man, don't tell me you were gonna try and use that on me, were ya?" Dean croaked. Sam was startled to hear the humor present in Dean's voice. "I know you want to get rid of me, but I think you are going to have to wait until something a little more serious than a werewolf bite." Sam was suspicious. He expected out right denial of the infection, but Dean could still be thinking on taking care of it himself.

"I thought you were supposed to be the college student? Didn't you look in Dad's journal?" Sam was still opening and closing his mouth, with no idea how to respond. "You really don't know? Silver is not the only cure for a werewolf infection, only if we let it go too long."

Sam was still looking at Dean, the flabbergasted shock changing into suspicion.

Before Sam could find his words, Dean interrupted. "What? Don't believe me? Look for yourself, but can you please first get these teeth out so I can get to a doctor sometime tonight, Sammy?" This came out as no more than a whisper, the pain obvious in Dean's voice.

"This is gonna hurt," Sam gripped the forceps tightly and brought them up to Dean's arm. Sam handed Dean a piece of leather from out of the kit and waited for Dean to give him the 'well no shit Sherlock' look before bracing himself. Dean placed the bit of leather in his mouth and bit down hard as Sam began the ardurous process of pulling the broken fangs out of Dean's arm.

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A sense of relief flooded Dean. For now, at least, he was safe from having his brother prematurely end his life. He could still see the look of suspicion evident on Sam's face as he refocused on giving Dean medical attention. Dean really couldn't blame him.

Sometimes he wondered if he wasn't psychic himself. At least psychic when it came to Sam, when it came to his younger brother Dean could read him like a book. He knew that Sam was probably thinking that he was going to off himself at the first chance. If it came down to it he would. There was no way he was going to let the guilt of his death eat at Sammy for the rest of his life.

Sam reached up with a piece of leather and the forceps clasped in his hand. Dean knew the drill, taking the leather from his younger brother. "This is gonna hurt," Sam stated the obvious. Dean could never understand why it was that people had this affinity for that particular talent, especially when it involved an injury. Dean couldn't help the look that he gave Sam, it summed up his feelings on the situation. It hurts already. I was already aware that it would hurt more when you pull those out. Get on with it.

The piece of leather was another dry matter in Dean's already dry mouth. He wasn't sure if he would be able to tell the difference between it and his tongue when Sam was done. Biting down hard as Sam first gripped one of the fangs with the forceps and then began to pull.

Dean was certain in his mind that Sam was pulling it out as fast as he could, but all of his senses were screaming at him that this could be done faster. The burning that came with the bite was bad enough, but now the flesh that had already been aggravated and punched through was being pulled back out the other way. The infection that sat pinned up behind the fang was now let loose, speeding through his veins and spreading the fire.

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By the time Sam extracted the second fang from Dean's arm the piece of leather was a perfect cast of Dean's teeth. Sam wrapped Dean's arm in a large bandage. Pulling the fangs had made the bleeding worse and Sam did not want Dean to loose any more blood. He expected Dean to go into shock at any moment. But as far as he could tell, Dean wasn't that bad off yet. Just in case, Sam pulled a blanket out from the back and wrapped Dean up in it. Even though Dean was no longer shivering when, by all rights, he should have been.

Turning his mind to finishing the job, Sam put his current set of worries for Dean on the back burner. He couldn't get Dean to a doctor and leave the body up here with all of the evidence pointing to them. Sam placed the bloodied tissues he used when cleaning the guns and Dean's wounds in the fire pit built a steady blaze. Picking up all the spent casings from the guns was the hard part. Finding the small and dark bits of metal on the ground was difficult, but Sam finally managed to get them. He glanced once at Dean in the car before heading off down the hill towards the stream. He picked his coat up from the ground as he walked by.

Sam resolutely did not think about what Dean might be doing up in the car with all those weapons. Choosing instead to consciously believe what Dean had said about there being a cure in the journal.

As he tossed the spent casings into the water a few at a time, though, Sam subconsciously strained his ears for the sound of the Impala's door opening. He doubted that Dean would kill himself somewhere where Sam would be able to find his body.

With that chore done, Sam shrugged back into his coat as he walked over towards the meat they had left out as bait. Now with his adrenaline worn off Sam felt the chill of the wind. He noticed a few raccoons already picking at it, carrying most of it off. They ran at the sound of Sam's approach, but he was certain that they would be back soon. He figured it was safe to leave.

Back up to the car Sam was happy to note that Dean was still inside the Impala. He had pushed the blanket down and Sam noticed that he had removed his coat, but other than that Dean was still safe.

Now the only part of this messy business left for Sam was taking care of the body. This was the part that Sam hated the most about killing a shifter, on some level the appearance of the human body afterwards always made Sam feel like a murderer.

Using more of the paper towels, Sam wiped the body down. It would look more suspicious if he tried digging the shots out so he left them in. Sam threw the last few towels into the fire and began the arduous task of dragging the body down the hill towards the water.

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Dean felt bad about leaving Sam to do all the cleanup work, but he knew that he would not have been able to help much. It was so hot in the car though. Dean pushed the blanket off himself and when that wasn't enough he pulled his coat off, then the heater was turned off. Still, the sweat was pouring off Dean's body. Not that he could tell much, his clothes already wet from the stream.

Dean knew that Sam would be listening for any sounds coming from the Impala. That he would come rushing back up the hill if he so much as heard Dean breath funny. Dean wished to open the door though; it was so hot inside the Impala.

For the first time in his life Dean was glad he had fallen out of a tree. He might have died of heat otherwise.

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Bone weary, Sam crawled back up the hill for the final time that night. He noted with satisfaction that the fire was just about out, everything being reduced to ashes inside the fire pit. Sam packed the ashes down and headed to the Impala, intent on leaving.

Sam flopped back into the driver's seat, Dean was leaning with his forehead pressed against the glass. He appeared to be sleeping so Sam let him be for now.

After putting off searching through their Dad's journal for the cure Sam's curiosity came back with a vengeance. Pulling it out Sam began flipping through the pages until he stopped at the entry on werewolves.

Sam nearly dropped the book when Dean's voice moaned across the quiet confines of the Impala. "It's at the end of the entry, just a list of ingredients. Simple really, found in any herb store or hippy haven. If they have those out here in the sticks." Sam glanced down and sure enough, the list of herbs was there. "We've even got half the job done."

Sam skimmed further down the list, following his father's cramped handwriting down to the very bottom of the page where it stated that the infecting werewolf needed to be killed before the mixture would work. Not wanting to skip anything this time, Sam read that all this had to be accomplished before the infected's first transformation.

The first read through Sam did not see anything in their father's journal about a cure for werewolf infection, but he hadn't really been looking. More like skimming, picking out anything in the entry that might have been useful to them for killing the creature tonight. Sam put the car into drive and began the drive back into Duchesne. "Glad for the thought though," Dean whispered, returning to the gun. "I wouldn't have wanted to spend the rest of my life being a slave to the moon."

"I know," Sam said as Dean finally let himself doze.


	5. Hospital

I still don't own them, I really wish to someday though.

* * *

Dean didn't remember slipping into unconsciousness. He assumed that he must have though, as Sam was trying to pull the door of the Impala open without dropping him out onto the asphalt. The window was sticky with sweat from Dean's forehead where he had been leaning on it during the drive. As Sam reached in to help him out Dean brushed his sleeve over the wet spot, smearing it across the glass. To Dean's infected eyes the smear of sweat looked suspiciously like blood. "Well that didn't work," Dean mumbled to himself. He blinked down at the window trying to focus his mind. "Are we at a motel?"

It was hard for him to think. He couldn't remember where it was they were supposed to be heading, because it was night it made Dean think that they were looking for a motel to sleep in. He needed to make sure Sammy slept so that he would be alert. Dean didn't want anything to happen to Sammy while they were on a hunt. "That would be bad," Dean was mumbling to himself; barely opening his mouth over the words.

"What? Dean, come on." Sam pulled Dean gently towards the door of the building. It was a low brick building, a few bushes and tulips sprouting up underneath the windows. To Dean they all looked red. Red tulips, red brushed bushes to go with the red brick building. At least it all matched.

Dean began to chuckle. "Sammy, how did they get the bushes to grow in red like that?" Sam gave his brother a worried look, trying to steady him as they crossed the short distance to the front door.

Sam found a bell on the wall and began to ring it, Dean winced. The sound cutting into his ears and slicing like knives into his overheated mind. The little alcove they were standing in became claustrophobic; it was too hot standing here by the doors with the sound of a heated bell spooning out his brain. Dean wanted to step back, even just a little, but he figured if Sammy could stand it then so could he.

A light clicked on somewhere inside the front, flooding through the glass of the doors. The red light sliced into Dean's eyes and boiled across his already inflamed skin, surprising him and forcing him backwards. Dean tried to shield his face and eyes with his arms, lifting both the healthy and broken one. There was a low pop from the broken bones. Dean's stomach flipped as he sank to his knees, curling in over his arm. Trying to protect himself from any further pain and sit out the sudden nausea that threatened to overwhelm him.

It was hotter crouched in a ball. He could smell the blood that seeped through the bandage making his gorge rise, if possible, further up his throat. At least he couldn't see it. Down here the light wasn't so bad either, the brunt of it hitting his shoulders. Sam dropped down next to him, someone else on the other side. Dean refused to uncurl his arms from his chest, the unbroken protectively covering it's opposite. Carefully, so as not to jostle him, Sam and the nurse reached underneath Dean's armpits supporting him into the clinic.

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Sam could feel the heat baking from Dean's skin as he and the nurse half-dragged, half-carried Dean back into the clinic. The contrast between Dean and the cool mountain air was frightening. He could have left his coat and sweater in the car if he could stand next to Dean; that was how high the heat was baking off his brother's skin.

Sam had taken Dean's left side, not quite trusting the nurse to not manhandle Dean's broken arm.

Dean flinched as they crossed into the light, shrinking in closer upon himself, head down and eyes closed. The nurse steered them towards a bed with a curtain pulled partway around it and hurriedly left them to go grab the doctor still asleep in the other side of the building. Sam sat next to Dean after pulling his own coat off. In the harsh light of the clinic, he was able to get a better look at his brother.

With a fever as high as Dean's, Sam expected there to be at least a small amount of color in his brother's cheeks. Instead Dean was slightly green, almost transparent. The sweat stood out on his forehead, rolling down the sides of his face and neck. Sam was sure that there was as much sweat now sticking Dean's shirt to his skin as water from the stream.

Sam realized he had no idea how he was going to explain the high temperature; the broken arm and bites were covered. Sam figured he would say their tire went flat next to a ranch and when Dean went to fix it, he got too close to a nearby fence and the dog on the other side attacked him. He had come up with this simple story as he was cleaning up the mess left at the campsite. Sam also realized he didn't know how he was going to explain Dean's wet clothes.

If all else failed he supposed he could pass the damp shirt off as Dean's sweat, but that led back to where the fever came from.

"Look at me Dean," Sam lifted Dean's face in his hands. His brother's eyes were shut tight against the light and he was still whimpering incoherently. Ever since Dean succumbed to unconsciousness in the car and been re-awoken he had been mumbling nonsense to himself. Sam couldn't understand anything Dean was trying to say in the parking lot and he wasn't getting a lot now. Just the odd curse or two.

"Dean, please open your eyes for me."

Dean complied grudgingly, slitting his eyes open with a soft hiss of pain. "That's good," Sam relaxed a little. At least Dean could still understand what was being said to him and wasn't lost completely in his delirium.

There was still no sign of the doctor. Vaguely Sam wondered what could be taking the nurse so long, but his worry over Dean pushed his thoughts about the doctor away.

Dean's eyes, though he was still squinting them against the overhead lights, were glazed and dilated. The pupils large, taking up most of the green ring, the whites a mottled red. Some of the veins in his eyes had burst when the infection hit them, being too small and fragile to handle whatever type of virus or bacteria it was that caused the werewolf infection. As Sam watched a few more of them burst before the sound of shoes on the linoleum pulled him back. He still had no idea how to explain the fever to the doctor, but he supposed the less information he volunteered the better.

All they needed was for the doctor to take care of the broken bones. Then they could be on their way to picking up the herbs and putting this town to their tail.

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It was so hot in here; Sammy had moved him into the burning light. "Sam, please shut off the light, shit, I can't see with it on. It makes it hot. Sammy, please. We need to figure something to tell the doctor." Dean wandered through a maze of blinding pain and searing heat. It was bad enough Dean couldn't even think. Each time he grasped at a thought it would burn up in a flash, leaving him to grope blindly for another thread to start on. "We need to find that monster and waste it, you know, before it hurts someone. Wait, I think we already did, didn't we? Are we at the motel yet, I wanna take a shower."

Sam's voice cut through the haze of thoughts in his mind. "Waddaya want Sammy? Can't you shut that light off?" Dean allowed his face to be turned, letting the entire weight of his head rest on Sam's hands.

"Dean, please open your eyes for me," Sam's voice was gentle. Dean squinted, slowly opening his eyes after several attempts. "That's good."

Everything was blurry and still red, as if someone sprayed a can of red paint in his eyes. Sam's blurred image began to come into focus. The look on his face was not a happy one.

Dean waited for his fuzzy red mind to catch up with the situation. Why would Sammy be unhappy? Dean stared, letting Sam's face come into clearer focus, waiting for the answer to come to him. The sound of approaching footsteps made Sam turn his head. Dean wanted to see who was coming as well but his younger brother's grip on his face prevented him from doing much aside from moving his eyes, which caused them to blur over again.

Sam released Dean's face standing to shake hands with whomever it was that had come in the room. The sudden loss of support almost toppled Dean, he barely managed to keep himself upright. Swaying with a sudden sense of vertigo caused by his eyes trying to refocus themselves Dean glanced at who it was that had attracted Sam's attention.

At first, all Dean could see were three reddish-tinged fuzz blobs gathered a few feet away. As his eyes gradually came back into focus, the red blobs began to reveal themselves to be; Sam, the blob that had been closest to him, a short, oldish man and a middle-aged nurse. That's when Dean's fuzzy mind finally caught up with him. He had been attacked by the werewolf, which Sammy killed.

This wasn't a motel. It had to be some kind of clinic to which Sammy brought him. The werewolf broke his arm, infected him.

It wasn't that Dean forgot all of this; he just couldn't get them in the right order in the flames. The pain from his arm was swallowed by the flames devouring his mind, furthering the confusion of his present situation. It was far too hot in here to think clearly about anything, how could they stand to be in here? He was melting. Surely, he had to be melting. He was going to become a little puddle of Dean goo dripping off the table onto the floor. They'd need a mop to get him cleaned up, and he just knew that he would leave a stain. It would be sad because this was one of his favorite shirts too. How was he supposed to drive the Impala if he melted? Dean started. He was allowing himself to be devoured by the flames again, loosing himself in the burning maze of his thoughts.

"He must've gotten too close to the fence, the dog grabbed his arm, it was huge. I tried to get it off but…" Sam's voice drifted closer through the red haze surrounding him. Dean used it to pull himself back from his thoughts. He didn't have to think, just listen to Sammy. They could work the rest out later when he wasn't burning alive inside his own skin.


	6. Fear

Still no takers? I would trade for just one brother... that's half of what I was originally asking for. I am willing to deal, please...

* * *

The doctor bustled down the short hall, still trying to fix his tie. An expression that was far from amused at being yanked from sleep cemented to his face. Pulled behind in his wake, the nurse that helped Sam drag Dean into the clinic ran along, clipboard in hand.

Sam stood to meet them, introducing himself as Sam Wade. A name that he was reasonably certain they hadn't used in a while.

"What happened?" The doctor's voice was irritated. Not bothering to introduce himself or even look at Sam. For such a short man, Sam thought, the doctor had a surprisingly deep voice. Nor did he seem intimidated by Sam's height.

He was all business, leaving no time for a bedside manner of any sort. It was a miracle he stopped his rush over to the bed to hear what was wrong with his patient before he began poking and prodding.

Sam heard himself ramble off something about a dog, very sketchy, not much detail, but close enough for government work. The doctor barely seemed to listen. Picking out what he thought was the pertinent information; what sort of injury and what caused the injury, before aiming towards the bed at his brisk walk again.

The nurse didn't follow. "What about the fever? Your brother is burning up, when did that start?"

Her eyes drifted up to Sam's face. On top they appeared to be mildly inquisitive. The brown orbs conveying the sense of a nurse just doing her duties, but underneath Sam sensed that there was something deeper to this question. What he said was going to be important. Sam didn't know where this vibe came from, but he couldn't squash the feeling that something big was riding on how he answered.

Panic began to clutch at Sam, the stress of the night rusting the gates to his rational mind, letting the panic in to pilfer where it would. He hadn't yet come up with a believable excuse for the fever. Anything that he said would probably lead to more questions. Questions which Sam did not have the answer to, nor did he think that his tired mind would be able to come up with them. Dean was always the one who was able to come up with stories from the seat of his pants. If he said that Dean had the fever before he was bit then there would be questions as to why it was Dean who was driving and why Dean had gone out to change the tire. However, if Sam said that the fever didn't come until after the bite the doctor might think rabies. Where were they going that needed Dean to drive if he was so sick? Sam's overworked mind turned even the simplest, most innocent question into a never-ending spiral of what if's and why's.

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So long as he there was Sam to focus on, Dean was able to navigate the maze of his thoughts a little better. Even through the haze in his mind Dean recognized Sam floundering and his overprotective, older brother instincts kicked in. This pulled him from some of the spiraling thoughts he was experiencing, letting him focus on the task of trying to take the uncomfortable look from Sam's face instead. He realized his little brother was probably too tired to be thinking clearly. Not that he was doing any better in that department, but he was always better at lying than Sammy was. Being the older brother, he had come up with the stories to tell the kids at school, or those that had to be told to police, social workers, or doctors that came after some hunts.

And he wasn't panicking. Sammy probably was, Sammy was probably over thinking and read too much into the question.

Dean watched Sam; he could feel the doctor's presence lean over his arm, peeling away the bandage. Parts of it stuck in the gouges, they twinged a little but Dean's wince was more in reaction to Sam's. He could see that Sam was trying to pull himself together. Answer the nurse, but Dean's mouth ran on autopilot already.

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Sam noticed the doctor bend over Dean's arm. Even though he appeared to be focused intently, Sam could tell that the he was listening hard. There was no way the doctor didn't feel the heat baking off Dean's skin. So far, though, he hadn't done much except peel away the bloody bandages carefully from the gouges in Dean's flesh. Sam winced along with Dean when the fabric would stick in the partially congealed blood.

In the harsh florescent light Sam could see the blood oozing from the torn strips of flesh. There was so much blood that from where he was standing Sam could not see how deep the gashes were. The skin of Dean's arm that was not torn or drenched in blood, which was very little of it, was an inflamed, bruised looking purple. No doubt this was where the fever originated and spread.

The sight worked to calm Sam's mind. Dean needed him and he wasn't going to help by having a panic attack in the middle of the clinic over a stupid question. "The fever started…" Sam began but was saved by his older brother.

"This morning," Dean croaked. His fever bright eyes traveled from the doctor to Sam and back again. "We stopped at a diner in Salt Lake last night and it must've been bad food." Sam could tell what an effort this speech caused Dean, his voice was slurred and low. The words came out of Dean's mouth slowly, as if he had to think very carefully about what he was saying.

"Food poisoning?" The doctor poked at the edge of one of the gashes eliciting a hiss of pain from Dean. Instead of looking at Dean's wounds, the doctor's eyes searched Dean's face. It was apparent that he wasn't buying the food poisoning story, but from the critical way he was also eyeing the fang wounds in Dean's arm made alarm bells go off in Sam's mind.

Something was off about the doctor and nurse, both. Sam suddenly felt that he didn't want this doctor near his brother in his currently weakened state anymore than necessary. Sam hovered around the table, watching every move the doctor or nurse made. There was no doubt in Sam's mind that the doctor didn't believe the dog bite story either.


	7. Wanted Dead or Alive

Still I do not have them, and still they will not take a slightly used Hyundai for them...

* * *

An uncomfortable silence settled over the group as the doctor began to first set, and then stitch Dean's arm back together. The only sounds being the doctor mumbling his instructions to the nurse. Instructions that she didn't need. Their actions were automatic, they performed surgery like automatons. The only emotion apparent in the room was coming from Sam.

A nervous energy flitted around Sam, Dean could almost see it. The way Sam moved, sitting on the very edge of the table next to Dean, Sam looked ready to pounce on the doctor any moment. With the death grip Sam had on Dean's good arm, if Sam decided to attack the doctor he would take Dean with him. "That would be two broken arms in one night," Dean thought. Dean couldn't understand why Sam would still be nervous. Dean already took care of the fever question and the doctor was fixing his arm.

Dean thought it was kind of funny. The doctor administered him an anesthetic, but instead of taking him further into the hazy maze that he had spent the night trying to escape, he was more aware. The blinding red pain that crashed in waves up his arm receded allowing his thoughts time to surface and catch their breath. Dean found it easier to think without being buried in his thoughts. It was time to take in the situation.

The first question to answer, Dean thought, was what is making Sam so nervous. Then he could focus on solving the issue. Following the direction of Sam's bright energy, Dean glanced at the doctor and nurse.

Overall, the doctor wasn't physically imposing. He was mid to old age, balding on top, passing from stout into the territory of a real weight problem, and he was rather short. About the same height, Dean judged, as the nurse handing the doctor any tool he might need. Aside from the red tinge his eyes painted the world, giving the doctor and nurse both a slightly sadistic tinge, everything appeared superficially normal. The red was not something Sam could see, so obviously there was something else. Dean took another look at the nurse buzzing next to him and realized what set Sam off.

She glared towards Sam and Dean out of the corners of her eyes, scrutinizing them. Almost as if she expected them to bolt without paying or something. Dean stifled a snicker that arose in his mind, "so it was the nurse that had Sam so upset." Maybe Sam put her on edge, but that still didn't explain why Sam would be on edge.

Wait, Dean stopped for a moment. He had to think back on Sam's posture. Maybe he was still a bit fuzzier than originally thought. Dean turned his gaze towards his younger brother again, looking for the exact focus of Sam's attention.

Sam was on the edge of the table, clutching Dean's arm, this much Dean hadn't forgotten. However, Sam wasn't focused on the nurse, his eyes sent daggers into the doctor. Aside from the painful jabbing in an obviously wounded area and for the fact that he was a doctor, the man was not someone that Dean would label as a threat. Of course, he was under the weather, maybe Sam was picking up on some vibe that Dean wasn't.

Dean leaned his face closer to the doctor. It was awkward going, seeing as the doctor was leaning over one arm and Sam had the other in a death grip, but Dean managed to make it so they were almost nose-to-nose. He could feel Sam trying to pull him back into an upright position, but he put the insistent tugs out of his mind. Instead, he leaned every bit of his impaired focus towards the doctor, trying to pick up the same vibe as Sam.

Steely grey eyes met Dean's red fogged green. The doctor's eyes were piercing, Dean could feel them drilling into his skull. "I am almost done, sir."

The doctor pushed Dean's face away, glancing at his nurse again before leaning back over the offending appendage. That was weird, Dean had never heard a doctor be so cold before. Normally it was that sickly sweet "I'll make everything better". Was that what Sam was nervous about? A grumpy doctor?

Dean felt the way Sam's grip on his arm tightened when the doctor touched his face, a sudden jerk, as if Sam wanted to keep the doctor from touching Dean.

Still focused on the doctor, trying to ignore the dancing nerves jumping from Sam, Dean leaned over onto his brother. He cleared his mind. Hopefully this would let the information that he needed seep into his hedge maze of thought processes.

Leaned back like this he could feel the steady, if slightly elevated, rhythm of Sam's heart. His fever enflamed head was cooled by the material of Sam's shirt. Dean was letting his guard down again, comforted by Sam's presence. His brother had left him once, but now Sam was back. Dean began to drift again. He was floating away from having to deal with his problems, at least for the time being.

_Dreams of red robots dressed in doctors' clothing flitted through Dean's dozing mind. The heads were shaped like some sort of animal. They were not well made. The crude faces reminding Dean of a child's depiction of a dog or a cat, maybe a poorly done Godzilla monster. The lights that served as their eyes would flash red in time with whatever they vocalized. _

_Suddenly the lights began flashing white, a white so piercing that it hurt Dean to look. But he was mesmerized, powerless not to. _

_Sam seemed immune to the glare. He was yanking on Dean's arm, trying to pull him from the robots. Dean wanted to go with his brother, but he felt that he might die if he didn't look at the white light. The robots were trying to separate the two brothers. "It really is for the best," the doctor robot squawked. "You'll just end up hurting each other if you stay like this." This was right, Dean did not want to hurt Sam. He should go with the doctors. _

_Dean felt Sam's grip on his arm tighten before slipping off. The next thing he knew the robots were dragging him down a long corridor with rooms laid out to either side. Sam was nowhere in view, neither was the hospital room he had just been in, just this damp and dark hallway that lead on to infinity. It would have been a relief after the blinding heat of the doctor's office except Dean realized with some horror that there were people locked in the rooms with monsters. He could hear their screams echoing around down the hallway, bouncing off the walls and meshing in his head. Some were pleas for help, while others were just the insane screams of the damned. _

_The little group stopped near a door. Dean could see a number etched into the cold metal, but he couldn't read it. There was another animal faced doctor standing outside the door, this one was, if not real, at least not a robot. The flesh he could see was not red and it tapped its foot impatiently. The barely heard clacking sounds the shoe made on the metal floor sounded like a gavel finalizing a sentence. The animal face was just a mask. _

_The real doctor reached over and pulled the door open. The cell was ready to receive its second occupant. The current inhabitant had its back to Dean, a back that was covered in thick, course and matted fur, the tail and legs as well. _

_The "arms" drug almost to the ground, each appendage being tipped with thick and deadly looking claws, claws that were cracked and broken from gouging deep grooves into the walls of the crude prison. _

_Dean did not want to be placed in a locked room with a creature that could tear metal. Finally, he was able to struggle, the spell of the white light having been broken for the time being._

_Snarling low in its throat, the creature turned. The robots holding Dean's arms thrust him forward into the cell. Dean expected to be caught up in the snarling jaws that would surely kill him, but when he looked up into the face of the creature all he could see was the moon._

Dean started from his doze. He'd never had a dream so vivid before, especially one that happened during a doze instead of a deeper sleep. Sam was still there, mumbling soothing sounds to Dean as he slept. He must have been making some sort of noise in his sleep. It must not have been too bad though, the doctor was able to set his arm in a sling. Speaking of the doctor, he and the nurse were nowhere to be found. Dean rolled his eyes trying to see where they went. When he couldn't see them he tried to get up. Sam was more than willing to oblige, taking most of Dean's weight and supporting him away from the bed.

Now Dean understood why Sam was so nervous. The looks the nurse and doctor kept sending the brothers' way first appeared in Dean's mind. They were both acting like Sam and he planned to skip out without paying or something similar. Dean couldn't think of a reason why they would believe this. Unless they didn't believe the story he told them about food poisoning and possibly the part about where Dean acquired the bites.

There was also the way that the type of trauma on Dean's arm had been routine to them. Dean remembered thinking how much like automatons they acted. The instructions the doctor mumbled to the nurse seeming more like they were done out of habit rather than anything else.

----------------------

They were halfway to the front desk. Relief still flooded Sam's system now that Dean had awoke from what sounded like a nightmare, eager to leave.

The brisk footsteps clicked up behind Sam. The urge to spin and flail out with any available weapon was strong and Sam felt that if it weren't for the fact that he was basically carrying Dean he probably would have done just that. Instead, Sam settled for turning slowly.

The doctor stood slightly in front and to the left of the nurse. He still wasn't smiling but she was. A simpering smile that was completely false, it did not reach her eyes at all. The only reassuring thing about the two was that she was holding what appeared to be a few prescriptions in her hands.

"Mr. …" The doctor glanced down at the clipboard in his hand. "Wade. I have these prescriptions that you may give to your brother if you wish to take him home, but I would really like to keep him for a few days. Just to keep an eye on that fever and make sure that his arm does not get an infection. _Dog bites_ can be pretty nasty things if they are not taken care of properly."

Sam heard the stress the doctor put on dog bites and involuntarily backed up a step. "I think we'll take our chances and leave."

Unconsciously Sam placed himself between Dean and them.

"Are you sure?" The doctor and nurse began moving towards the brothers again. Unfortunately, Sam had backed himself and Dean up against the front desk and there was nowhere else he could move. "You don't know if that _dog_ had rabies or not, your brother needs to be observed."

There was the stress on the dog again.

They were getting closer. Sam could feel the fingers of panic begin to pick at his defenses again. "Then why don't you give him the shot now? If something comes up I can stop at another hospital." One that is bigger and not so creepy, Sam added to himself.

By now, the nurse and doctor surrounded them, one side smiling blankly while the other pleaded. "I really must insist that your brother stay. It's really for the best."


	8. St Andrew This Battle is in the Air

Hey all, another update! Love the reviews ya'll have left and I try to respond when I can. Still open for feedback! I wanna know what ya think! Oh, and just a shamless plug here, but ya'll should take a look at my first ever oneshot (yes I feel proud about having finally finished something) as I am trying to decide if I could make another, longer story out of it, or if I should just leave it as it is. Already it connects to another, original story I am writing, but this oneshot has Sam and Dean in it! It is called Evil Smells Like Cookies, take a look please!

* * *

Sam couldn't believe his eyes; it seemed that these two were willing to use force if that meant keeping Dean here. Right about now Sam was really regretting the decision to stop at this clinic, not that they'd had a whole lot of choice in the matter. In the back of his mind, he wondered if all small clinics out west were all so creepy or if they were just lucky and managed to pick the only one.

The four stopped with Dean just about pressed against the front desk. The doctor and nurse flanked the two brothers. Anyone looking in from the outside would have been able to see the maneuvers for what they were, an ambush. "You see, the rabies shots need to be taken over a time period of a month, how are we going to know if your brother is getting the treatment he needs?" The doctor stopped just short of reaching out and yanking Sam away from Dean.

Sam was running out of time, the longer they stayed the more their chance to escape shrank. Sam released Dean, turning with his arms slightly spread, shielding Dean from his two antagonists. It was the only thing he could think of to do besides ram the two and run out the door.

Overall, that wouldn't have been such a bad idea. What happened next caught Sam completely by surprise. Out of all the people he expected to make the first move in their little Mexican Standoff Dean was on the bottom of the list. For the third time in about as many hours Dean came to Sam's rescue, though Sam could have picked a better way to pull this one off.

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The wood of the front desk bit painfully into Dean's thighs as Sam tried to become a human shield. Dean could tell that they were in a bad situation and that there were very few options for escape left to them. They needed a miracle, preferably one that could be easily accessible and would give them a direct path to the door.

Sam's body was pressed tight up against him, and if their situation wasn't what it was, Dean probably would have been very uneasy about their body postures. What with the insinuations that could be made against his masculinity. Dean pulled his mind away from such thoughts. That was the last place he should let his mind wander, it was unhelpful and just plain wrong.

Sam pressed even harder into Dean, forcing him to bend slightly and place his uninjured arm on the desk behind him. Still wracking his befuddled mind for a way out, Dean's hand came upon something that gave him what seemed like a brilliant idea at the time. He grabbed the smooth piece of metal, not even looking at it before acting. He relyied mainly on instinct that this would work. He tried to ignore the sudden urges to use all of his force and jab down on the object, letting free the red, hot life bubbling just under the surface of Sam's skin.

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The cool metal object slid up the side of Sam's neck and pressed, creating a dimple in his skin just above his jugular. This was something unexpected. The masks of simpering helpfulness dropped suddenly from the faces of both the nurse and doctor, being replaced by actual looks of shock and surprise.

Sam was afraid to swallow, Dean pressed the object so tightly against his skin that any movement brought the tip closer to breaking the tender flesh of his neck. Dean's breath was like a blast from a furnace next to Sam's ear. "I want ya to get me that shot now, an' then let my brother and I leave."

The doctor nodded, signaling to the nurse to go grab the shot. She hurriedly placed the prescriptions she was holding on the floor and ran. "Pay them and then we can go."

Sam could have easily broken out of Dean's one armed grip, but there was a steely edge cutting through the huskiness in Dean's voice that put Sam on edge. He wasn't sure if Dean was just trying to pretend to hold him hostage or if the fever really had caused his brother to loose his mind.

Slowly, Sam reached his hand down to his pocket, when his wallet caught on the fabric of his jeans he felt the object Dean had in his hand press down harder and the first little bit of blood well out from the tear. The hilt of the knife and the edge of Dean's hand were still visible in the bottom of Sam's line of sight. The way Dean was holding what Sam could only think of as a slightly dull knife brought all the pressure down on the pointed tip. His brother was not going to slice his throat, the angle for that would have made it too easy for Sam to break free. No, Dean would not slice his throat, but Sam was not sure about stabbing.

The nurse returned with the shot, which she handed to the doctor. For the first time that night, Sam could see the uncertainty in their eyes. This was something that they weren't expecting.

Dean's left arm was already partially exposed; the werewolf had torn the material, its fangs shredding both fabric and skin alike. The doctor had also cut the tattered parts off before he began stitching, leaving one sleeve of Dean's shirt long and the other short. This was the arm that Dean wanted them to put the shot in now. Never loosening his grip on the knife as the wide bore of the needle slid in deep, fist drawing blood back into the barrel and then letting its thick, liquid contents mix with whatever else was being carried in Dean's blood.

This must have been painful, but Dean showed no sign other than flinching slightly and hitching in his breath giving Sam a temporary reprieve from the knife.

Sam handed the doctor whatever cash was in his wallet, not bothering to count it. The doctor didn't either. The nurse picked up the prescriptions from the floor and hastily shoved them into Sam's hands. When the nurse came close, Sam felt Dean push the tip deeper. If Dean wasn't careful, Sam was going to start a new trend with piercing, if he survived.

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Dean backed them out the door, never turning his back on the doctor or nurse. He could only hope that they wouldn't memorize the Impala's license plates. He didn't know if there was another phone deeper in the building, but he didn't doubt that if there was that the nurse had used it.

Backing out the door they came in was harder than it looked. Dean was feeling woozy, like a ship in heavy storm, he figured it was the combination of the rabies shot and painkillers. He wasn't too worried about Sam if he fell, he had pulled the point of the object away from his younger brother's throat, giving Sam enough room to move out of the way, but still close enough so that the doctor wouldn't be able to tell that Sam wasn't in much danger anymore.

What worried Dean was the amount of will power it took him to pull the object away. Without seeing, Dean knew the tip of the object had drawn blood and there was a part of him, recently awoken, that wished for Dean to cause more blood. It wanted Dean not only poke, but tear, rend and shred Sam's throat with the object in his hand. Just for the sheer joy of killing. He could hear it jabbering to him, using his voice, Dean could imagine this part of him drooling and slobbering as it thought of all the blood that Sam's veins contained.

Finally, the door closed behind them, putting a protective sheet of glass between them and the pale faces of the doctor and nurse. Oddly enough, once the brothers began making their careful way out of the building, the doctor seemed to become more angry than fearful. It wasn't the anger that comes after being surprised with a deadly weapon, he seemed angry in the way that people get angry when they are close to gaining something that just slips through their fingers.

Dean released his hold on Sam when he felt the safety afforded by the side of the Impala. He glanced down at the object he used to take his younger brother hostage for the first time; it was an antique letter opener, the kind that was made to look like a dagger. The hilt was decorated with wolves; Dean ignored the irony, his eyes sliding down the hilt to the blade. Rather dull, but the red sheen to his eyes making it appear as if it were covered in blood, Sam's blood. The tip, Dean saw was dark, almost black, there was only a tiny amount of blood on the blade. Dean felt the need to throw the object away from him in horror. He used it to draw the blood of his younger brother, whom he had sworn since the age of four when his father entrusted him with the precious burden to protect with his life.

Unsteadily he turned and looked at Sam, his eyes painting his younger brother in blood crimson. Through all the red, Dean could still make out the point in Sam's neck where he had tried to stab the blade through. The new, savage part of him whined when it saw that the tear was not bigger, the hole not deeper. Dean's head swam, he couldn't believe what he had just done, he felt sick. Not Sammy, how could he have done something to intentionally injure Sammy? With a stab of guilt, Dean realized he was trying not just to injure, but to kill Sammy. It was the overwhelming need to get away added to the love of his brother that allowed Dean the strength he needed to control his urge to kill.

It was a lucky thing that Sam had just opened the Impala's door, trying to guide Dean inside before the distant police sirens became blaringly loud. With a cry of revulsion, Dean's knees came unhinged as red tinged tears began to fall from his eyes. Sam barely had time to catch him, guiding him into the open door before Dean could hit the ground. The infection was spreading fast this time if the animal inside Dean was already awake to that extent.

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Finally they made it out of the hospital, I was beginning to wonder if I was ever gonna let them out! Now, though, I can carry on with the plot! YAY!


	9. The Promise

I apologize so much for the late update... and for the **extreme** shortness of this chapter. You'd think it would be longer as I took so long to put it up, but alas it is not. I do kinda have some sort of lame excuse though. until a few days ago I was a solid blister from my elbow to my wrist, it is times like these that I am reminded why I hate the sun so much! I know, it is a very lame excuse, but that's my story and I'm stickin to it! 

Blah, blah I still don't own them, but I'm workin on that. Unfortunately I don't think they'll take my Hyundai as a fair trade...

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Sam didn't remember how he managed to avoid the police. Turning blindly off the main street onto one of the few side streets that were lined with shops. He was surprised to see that most of the store fronts were boarded up, during the day the town didn't have the abandoned feeling that these boarded up hulks were giving now. It seemed that the small farming community was drying up.

They pulled up behind one of these; it looked to Sam like it was once a car shop of some sort, the large garage allowing them to hide the Impala as well as themselves. Sam thought it would have been smarter to continue, use the night to hide themselves. He didn't know how they were going to make it out of town in the morning, but he wasn't sure that Dean could have made it to another town tonight.

His brother sat, huddled really, on the passenger side. Sweat ran down the sides of his pale face and neck. His chest heaved as if he had just run miles. Dean still clasped the letter opener loosely in his hand. Except for the moments when tremors would wrack his body which caused him to involuntarily grip the dagger like object with white-knuckle force, curling the letter opener in towards his body as his shoulders hunched and his back bowed.

Tentatively, Sam stretched his arm across the seat, brushing his fingertips against Dean's shoulder. Dean started and tried to press himself further into the door. "Don't touch me Sammy."

His wide eyes traveled immediately to the tear in Sam's neck, "I don't know what I might do." Sam strained to hear this last part as Dean's hoarse voice dropped even lower.

"Please, just don't. I don't wanna hurt you any more than I already have tonight. I shoulda just stayed at the clinic, like the doctor said," Dean's eyes never left the tear in Sam's neck. The way he crouched against the door reminded Sam of a trapped animal. The shudders that wracked Dean's body every few seconds added to the effect, making it seem as if he were caught in a never ending fight or flight response cycle.

"Dean, you won't hurt me. You are the last person that would," Sam had to fight the urge to finger the small stinging, hole just under his Adam's apple. He knew he was saying this to reassure Dean, but a small part of him needed the reassurance as well. For a terrifying moment at the clinic, Sam thought Dean really would plunge the letter opener into his throat. He had been able to feel the tenseness of Dean's muscle as he strained not to push harder; he had felt the heat of Dean's labored breath on the back of his neck. Sam could feel the Dean he knew trying to fight off this new impostor, but it had been a close match. It wasn't until the sirens became audible that Dean managed to regain control of his wayward limb and release Sam from his grip.

For one terrifying moment, Dean was lost completely. It seemed, by his reaction, Dean realized this as well.


	10. God Called in Sick Today

Hey, hey, hey another update. Longer than the last one! Hope you like it. I promise the story will be moving on soon. Thanks to all those who have reviewed so far! 

Don't own them, yadda yadda yadda

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Dean huddled near the door, trying his best to avoid his younger brother's many attempts to comfort him. He shouldn't be the one being comforted; Sam should be running away from him. He was dangerous. Maybe the doctor were right, it would have been best if he stayed and let Sam bring him the herbs later. At least if he was in the hospital he wouldn't be able to hurt Sam.

Sam was still talking. Probably still trying to offer some semblance of comfort to Dean, but he wasn't listening. Once again Dean wandered in the maze of his thoughts, albeit, his thoughts seemed to be more coherent for the moment.

The last time he was bitten, Dean didn't remember the urges being so violent. Of course he had been pretty far out of it with fever for about a week, but it seemed to him that the few urges he did have were somehow less than this time. He could remember wanting to eat the hamburger meat his dad stored in the fridge raw, and there was the night that he tried to bite John, but they had been outside and the moon only a night from full. He also didn't remember the urges being so hard to fight; holding Sammy's life in his hand like that gave him a thrill that he did not wish to experience again. Dean was honest with himself; he could admit that the thought of Sam's blood rushing just underneath the surface of his skin caused Dean's heart to go double time. Thinking about it now made him more excited than he would ever care to admit.

Dean turned his thoughts away from that dangerous topic; if he was going to allow Sam to even sit in the Impala with him then he should not think about what Sam would taste like. Maybe it would be better if he sat outside for the time being. He didn't know if maybe the reason this time seemed worse was because he, in a small part, acted on his new urges, or if it was because he was putting Sam in extreme danger. Sam, whom he engrained upon his mind that he, Dean, needed to protect no matter what the cost. Dean was certain that his "protect Sammy" programming could be seen in an MRI if he were ever to have one. It would state in big bold letters across his frontal lobe somewhere "Sammy needs protecting, even when not on a job, and especially when Sammy thinks that he can take care of himself."

This thought made Dean smirk a little. At least it was keeping him from attempting to partake in the culinary oddity of cannibalism, if that's even what it would be, considering that Dean was now a werewolf.

Dean felt himself drifting; he knew he was fighting a losing battle with his consciousness. His head suddenly swimming again, his sight not only red but burning. Even with the blood and fire alternately drowning and burning his vision, he could track the diluted moonlight coming in through the windows of the garage as it set.

His hearing started to buzz, the buzzing growing to a high-pitched whine as waves of hurt began to overwhelm the painkillers and travel up his arm.

His eyes seemed to follow a single moonbeam of their own accord. Dean knew that this was impossible, the moon's light was barely strong enough to get passed the accumulated grime covering the windows of the garage. There was no way it could penetrate this far into the Impala. That would also require a lot more bending than Dean thought was allowed any form of light to do.

The imaginary, it had to be, shard of light landed on the tip of the letter opener, bathing Sam's blood that was still there in silver. Dean insanely wanted to lick the tip of the dagger like object. The silver cast of the light on the red of Sam's blood making it oh so appetizing.

Dean's preoccupation with this meant he didn't feel the pressure of Sam's hand on his arm. He was completely entranced with the slowly congealing liquid on the tip of the knife.

He was about to move it up to his lips when the moonbeam exploded. Turning the brightest red Dean had seen so far in his newly red world. It was more than blinding, bursting through his optical nerves and down into his mind, blinding him there as well. Dean couldn't think, it was too bright, too red and flashing. Going from the bright mind killing red flushing though an artery to the deep purple red of venous blood.

The whole world was drenched in red. Dean dropped the letter opener as if it burned him. He would have cried out as well if Sam had not clapped a hand over his mouth.

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Sam noticed Dean grow quiet and still against the door. He didn't know what to do for his older brother. Even in the best of circumstances Dean would refuse comfort of any kind and Sam knew that because Dean felt that if he did he was putting himself in danger it was going to be near impossible to do anything except add to the frustration level of both brothers.

It unnerved Sam how quiet Dean was being though. Sam couldn't even tell if Dean was breathing or not. The dusty stillness of their hide out only added to this. Dean seemed like something that was dying, much like the town was doing.

This gave Sam a start. He suddenly needed to check and see if Dean was still alive, still breathing, anything. A short internal debate ensued, Sam arguing with himself about whether or not he should grab Dean. On one hand, Dean could've been allergic to, or the werewolf venom could be reacting to, one of the many things that the creepy doctor gave him. Dean could be going into cardiac arrest as Sam was doing nothing. On the other, Dean just be dozing off, it was too dark in the Impala and Dean turned too far towards the door for Sam to tell if his eyes were open or not.

If this was the case then Sam risked startling Dean again and having Dean react like before, possibly pulling stitches and further injuring his arm. If that happened Sam would then need to fix the problem himself. Fight his brother to allow Sam to help as he was not going to take Dean back to that clinic. Not only would they be arrested there more likely than not, but the doctor gave Sam an odd feeling, something was not quite right there. Or, Dean might actually attack him in this situation; Sam noted that Dean still held the letter opener loosely in his fist.

If it was the former option Dean might die because Sam was too afraid to touch him.

Coming to his conclusion Sam moved his arm across the seat, trying to keep his movements non-threatening. His fingers brushed Dean's arm again, just above the knot that was forming where the doctor had given him the "rabies" shot. Sam was not even sure if that's what they gave Dean, he wouldn't trust that doctor as far as he could throw him.

Sam could still feel the heat baking from Dean's skin; it seemed as if Dean's fever had risen since they left the clinic. If that was at all possible. Dean jumped slightly at Sam's touch, but didn't react to Sam's presence in any other way. It was like he was in some kind of trance.

Growing in boldness, Sam gripped Dean's arm tighter. He watched as Dean began to raise the letter opener. It wasn't a threatening gesture, but it made Sam nervous anyway. Sam reached his other arm across Dean's chest, hoping to slap the letter opener away before Dean could do whatever it was that he was planning on doing with it.

He didn't hear the police cars coming, they were running on silent, but their flashing red and blue lights flooded the front of the building. Everything inside the garage was painted in blue and red.

Sam clamped his reaching hand over Dean's mouth, ignoring the letter opener that Dean almost threw from himself, on the off chance that Dean cried out. Sam also pulled Dean's loose body over into him. Even in his panic, Sam was careful not to smash Dean's injured arm between their bodies.

It seemed that the police found their hiding place. The idea of throwing the Impala into drive and just taking off flitted quickly through Sam's mind and was just as quickly thrown out. If they ran then they would be in bigger trouble than before, right now he might be able to convince the police to let them off.

Sam hoped that the police were unsure though, that if they stayed quiet the flashing blues and reds would move on. It would certainly make things easier.

He sat, huddled with Dean in the Impala and waited for the worst while preying for a miracle.


	11. Run, Wolf Warrior Run

So it has been a VERY long time for this one. I hadn't forgotten it, I had just been waylaid by way to much. whooo. So ya'll I do be back and I r still not owning the Winchesters, nothing has changed in my financial means that would allow me to even claim any sort of ownership to them... sadness...

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For once it seemed that whatever gods there were in heaven were smiling down. The lights, though for several agonizing minutes stayed in front of the tiny garage, moved on. Fading back into the night until they disappeared.

Sam released breath that he hadn't realized he was holding. His nerves turned to liquid and his hand fell limp from Dean's mouth. "It looks like we made it, for now," Sam whispered.

Though his fingers could feel Dean's heartbeat rattle away against the flesh surrounding it, his older brother was as still as death against Sam's side. Dean's skin was drenched and pale, except for the livid blackness encompassing his closed eyes. His breathing shallow, so shallow in fact, that Sam needed to lean in close to feel the faint whisper of it against his neck.

The brothers sat like that for an unknown amount of time. Dean pulled across the seat leaning on Sam, until Sam's own exhaustion caught up with him and he fell into his own restless slumber.

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Trapped inside the red, Dean screamed within the confines of his mind. Surely he would go mad. "Pleasepleaseplease, make it stop!" The grew to a point where he couldn't tell it from his own consciousness, it enveloped him completely. It came from all directions, trapping him, pinning him like a bug against the red felt of a display case. He would do anything in that moment to make it stop.

It took a moment for Dean's pain fogged consciousness to realize that the redness was lifting. Revealing to him snatches of forest and taking with it some of the pain. It took a longer moment for Dean to realize the redness was retreating back into him, pulling back into his eyes, mouth, nose and ears.

It left in its wake a consciousness that was alien and yet still wholly his own. The red never completely left him, instead forming a mist that beckoned him to follow it. Its call was irresistible.

Traveling along its path was the easiest thing for Dean to do, it felt so right to place his paws to the ground and run on the wind. He ran along instinct, traversing through time and place next to and as one with his pack mates before him and those that would come after.

Following the path alleviated some of the pain, but he knew that the thrill of a kill would take it away completely.

This was not something he needed proof for, he knew to be as true as stones sinking in water.

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Sam awoke sometime later, actual light coming through the grimy windows. For a moment he did not remember where he was, or the incidents that happened the night before.

It wasn't until he heard the moaning growl and felt Dean strain next to him that everything came crashing back.

Dean seized in the seat next to him, seizing so violently that Sam was unsure of how he slept through it. The stitches in Dean's arm had popped open again as Dean's muscles cramped, tensed and shuddered. His back arched so severely Sam could hear his spine pop.

Strange noises clawed their way out of Dean's throat, crosses between growls and half shouts, moans and barks. Barely making it passed teeth that were alternately bared, gritted in grimaces and yawning open as if to bite. It would only be a matter of time before someone heard them.

Fearing for his brother, Sam pushed on his taught frame at the same time wedging the letter opener between Dean's jaws. He figured that broken teeth were better than a lost tounge. Sam was utterly at a loss as to what he could do besides turning themselves in and resigned himself to doing just that.

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Well, the cops didn't get them, but unfortunately I couldn't let them get off that easy now could I? 


	12. Possession

Happy next chapter all, somebody get some champagne we're at chapter 12. But I think I am going to up the rating... dunno... just to be safe. I plan on getting pretty descriptive... 

Don't own them, wish I did, am willing to trade a slightly used Hyundai... Please?

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"God, it's bright."

For a moment this was the only thought Dean was able to form.

It was bright actually, and not red. In fact, it was white. His eyes rolled in their sockets, trying to take in his new surroundings. After the vivid reds his world had turned to last night, the stark white seemed vague, fuzzy even. Everything just seemed not as sharp as it should have been.

He lay in the white bed, eyes lazily trying to focus on something while his mind wandered sleepily through his scattered memories of his arrival here. There were surprisingly few of them for him to pick through. He remembered going after the werewolf, and the fight with it. After that everything became jumbled. He could only catch bits and pieces, mere flashes of things that happened.

A bloody dagger, flashing lights, something about a hospital but he couldn't remember exactly. Overlaying all was a sickly sort of fear. Something to make him gag and gasp, even trying to access them brought his heart into his throat. Whatever he was trying to hide from himself must have been bad. If he could only remember what it was.

Did something happened to Sammy? Did the werewolf…

Dean tried to jump up out of his bed; the vague white world gave one giant heave to the side before sending itself into a merry-go-round, kaleidoscopic colorless whirl. He tried to throw his arms out for balance, but one of them wouldn't move, it appeared to be tied to his chest. Dean sat heavily on the floor, the cool tiles sending spikes of ice into the open back of the hospital Johnny he was put in. It was an odd sensation really, the loss of even the blurriest definitions he could make out. Everything mixed together into a white blur and yet he couldn't really see the room spinning. He just felt the floor flip about as he tried to cling to it.

"Help!" Dean wasn't sure if his voice carried any farther than the revolving walls and ceiling. His voice was thrown back to him, a hundred frightened, and confused Dean Winchesters trying to cling to the surface of a world that no longer wanted them.

For a long moment Dean lay on the floor. Feeling the world sway back and forth between tipping over and righting itself, hoping that it wouldn't buck him off. He could feel the bile rise in his throat, his stomach threatening to dump itself as the world flew away.

Hands, fingers, he could feel short nails dig into his shoulders, arms lift him from the floor to put him back on the bed.

"Mr. Wade, how'd ya get down there? Where ya going?" His eyelids were pried open. He felt more than saw the light flashed in his eyes, it was more of a stabbing pressure than anything.

"Where's Sam?" Dean managed to wriggle away from the probing of whatever doctor, possibly nurse, was poking at him.

The room slowed to a crawl when he was placed on the bed, giving itself only two half-hearted whirls before settling down. He felt that he might be able risk sitting up.

"My brother. Where's Sam?" Dean paused a moment before gathering his thoughts and trying again. "I need to know where my brother, Sam, is."

An almost unnoticeable prick pushed into his arm.

"I think you've had too much excitement, you need some rest."

Whatever they jabbed him with was fast acting. His mind was slipping from him, the whiteness receding into a grey that was fast turning black at the edges. The arms wouldn't let him up. The mouths above kept talking, telling him to rest, sleep.

"No, I need to find my brother, where is he?" Dean tried to wriggle out of the grasp. A spark of rage ran through his chest, calling to it other sparks as a pack racing to overtake his mind. He felt wild, furious, bloodthirsty even, and terribly right.

This is what he wanted, needed. These people were trying to keep him from his brother, they were hiding him. They wouldn't even tell him where Sam was and he might be hurt. Dean couldn't protect him if they wouldn't tell him where Sam was.

He could feel a low growl trying to bubble up from his gut, bringing with it a promise to rend flesh from the bone. He saw his good arm wrench free from the fingers clutching it and send its fingers plunging into the eyes of the nearest face. He relished in the feeling of his fingers gripping the slippery orb and squeezing until it popped. He pulled on the stringy nerve, it felt so fragile, so easy to snap between his fingers. He wondered what it might taste like.

He could hear his screams of outrage mixing with those of his victim as the blood rained down upon him. It dripped onto his chest and face, flowed into his mouth. A warm, life giving river. Still, he felt right, this was the punishment for breaking up a pack.

Dean sat up in his bed with a gasp, noon light shining through the window. He touched his fingers to his chest, searching for the sticky, bloody mess that should have been there. His fingers came away dry, the crisp white linen unstained.

He must have dreamt coming awake the first time. Or at least the part about tearing out the doctors eyes, because he didn't hear any screams and it seemed that he was not covered in blood.

Still, he felt revulsion at the pleasure he gained at the thought of an open attack and knew that it wasn't a good sign. From what little he could remember of the last time he was bit, he didn't begin to have any sort of urges until closer to the full moon. Even right after he had been bit, he didn't remember wanting to kill.

He needed to know how long he was out. He needed Sam. And he needed those herbs.


	13. House of Wolves

Long time no update eh? I swear this one is almost done though and I am putting it on high priority! So I offer you this short update... I am sorry! We are so close to the end! I hope you haven't forgotten about it! 

I still don't own them... but my plans are just about to fall into place on that...

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_Yes, it appears that this one is changing much faster than expected… Something is different about this one… I am sure he's changing. My assistant is also certain, I doubt he'll ever be able to see… yes, I understand…we were warned… quarantine… just, please come pick it up. _

Dean couldn't tell if these were things that he heard in his mind or if he really heard them. The first time he awoke in the hospital was his clearest time, it was also one of his most vivid nightmares yet. Jabbing his fingers into that man's eye seemed so real, yet he hoped it was all just a nightmare. A nightmare that was being continued through the phantom voices he heard.

There was no real way for him to tell; Dean hadn't seen anyone since then. Nurses would come in when he was asleep, just long enough to give him drugs and run their tests. This Dean knew, assumed really, it was the only explanation for how hazy he grew and his frequent bouts with the unconscious world.

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Sam was panicked. After his worry for Dean forced him to turn themselves in, his brother disappeared. Taken back to the creepy clinic they barely escaped from, or so Sam assumed.

He didn't know how he managed to explain himself to the police, let alone get himself off seemingly scot-free, but here he found himself. Standing in front of the brick façade that he had found himself panicking before a mere few hours ago. The feeling of panic at both experiences were not lost on Sam, he was trained to listen to his feelings.

The police as well gave him an odd feeling. There was no questioning, no chance for him to defend himself. They just placed him, not even in a cell, in a questioning room where he spent the rest of the night and early morning. Finally, he was released and allowed to go find out what had become of his brother.

Sam sucked in a lungful of air, blowing it out before pushing on the glass doors.

They didn't budge; the glass remained in place, denying him access to the cold tiled inside. For a moment Sam stood with his hand pushing on the door before he reached for the handle and began to pull. This also achieved nothing, except to increase Sam's feelings of panic.

There were two very different scenarios facing Sam. Either the doctor was in there with his brother, doing who knows what, or Dean had been taken somewhere else entirely. The complex variables attached to each of these scenarios also flitted briefly through Sam's mind before he squashed them.

Alone, Sam stood in the shade next to the door and tried to think of what else he might do.

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There was a prick, the tiniest of sensations, barely there but caught by Dean's hyper aware system anyway. He allowed his eyes to slit open, just enough to permit the white light to penetrate his mind. It had been hours (days?) and there was still no sign of Sam.

Dean didn't need to see the room to know what it looked like. Long, white and bright with many beds lining the walls. About half of them filled with forms, some of them muttered in their troubled sleep. Each form varied in the degree of their confinement, though none being as confined as Dean; he was tied down, arms, legs and chest, by large leather straps with steel reinforcement inside.

He didn't know when he came here, the constant drug regime saw to that, but lately the doctors were backing off on the amount of drugs he was forced. For a few moments every day Dean could wake, still hazy, but conscious. During these times Dean tried his hardest not to move much, hoping that the "doctors" would remove the restraints if he did so.

"Why are we here?" Dean broke from his reverie, startled by a voice to his right. Turning his head he could see a girl sitting on the bed next to his. She had large bandages covering her arms and the frightened eyes of someone who wakes from a bad dream only to realize that reality is worse.

"I don't know," Dean's voice hissed through his teeth. "I have some ideas though. Were you bitten by, let's say a large dog or wolf, before they brought you here?"

The girl's blue eyes widened, if possible, further. "I was, yes, I mean," she held her arms up for Dean to see. "Could that, are you saying it's like rabies or something? That we're quarantined?"

Dean debated for a minute before deciding to tell her the truth. "Not rabies exactly, but another virus or something. You've heard of werewolves before, right?"

She flipped her black hair over her shoulder and glared at Dean. "You're kidding right, ha ha, tell me another one. Y'know, I just wanted someone to tell me if they knew something or not. It's not like you have to make fun of me or anything."

She turned her back to Dean, huffing slightly. Dean couldn't blame her, it sounded crazy and she was frightened, but he didn't have the energy to care. His world was growing fuzzy again.


	14. Horror Show

Another chapter closer to the end, can we get a hooray or something! As always reviews keep the muse fed, really they do. This is on high priority, but how high depends on how many reviews I get :p

Standard disclaimers apply, I don't own them... no matter how much I want to

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"What do you think we should do with this one?" 

"Move him to a cell; we can't risk a transformation right now."

Dean's eyes pulled themselves open, each lid weighing at least a thousand pounds.

"Look at the claws, they're already…" The voice broke off, noticing that Dean was awake. "Look at the eyes, what color were they when this one came in?"

The sound of papers being shuffled barely registered to Dean, he could smell the blood coursing through the veins of the two people standing over him. "They were green sir."

"Mark them down as having changed," there were more sounds of papers being moved. Dean imagined what it would feel like to sink his teeth into the throats of those above him, to taste their meat and the power of spilling their red life onto the floor.

"We need to hurry with this one, get a gurney in here so we can transport. This one needs to be under constant observation."

The people moved away, Dean slept again.

* * *

The girl, Breena, watched the people she could only assume were doctor and nurse take the man next to her away. Nobody was saying anything and she was too frightened to ask what was going on. 

She couldn't see exactly what they were looking at, something about claws and eyes.

As impossible as it seemed, the man next to her might have been onto something when he said werewolves.

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The open windows brought Dean the smell of pine from the forest he was rolling through. The Impala's smooth black paint madee the car disappear for a few seconds under every shadow only to slide back into the light where it shone like a nova star until it vanished into the next shadow. His tapes were blaring, echoing off the trees and into the silence.

Sam slept in the seat next to him, head bent backwards on seat back. All was right with Dean's world.

The song faded, the next one starting up with sirens. Dean frowned, he couldn't remember there being sirens on this tape.

The sounds grew louder, reaching into Dean's skull with their earsplitting shrieks and then fading into the distance only to rise again. Dean turned the knob on the stereo, shutting the radio off entirely, but he could still hear the sounds of the siren. They were getting louder now.

Dean slowed the car to a stop and grabbed Sam's shoulder. "Hey man, wake up. Do you hear that?"

Sam never moved he began to fade into the seat of the Impala. Dean grabbed at Sam's shirt but his fingers dissolved into it. Dean tried to shout, but the sirens were masking his voice. He couldn't hear anything now except for them. The Impala faded as well, leaving Dean in a void with the sirens as his only company.

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Yellow eyes shot open in the dark, Dean could still hear the sirens. They weren't something in his dream after all.

The vapors of his dream began to fade, he could almost remember what it was of, but it didn't seem important now. Nothing did. Only the here and now was important. Only the next kill, the next hunt. He turned to the small window set high in the cell wall; he could see the moon, about a week away from full outside. It told him things were happening, things that he needed to be a part of, he was the dominant here and the world was his to take.

A new vigor ran through Dean's veins, he wasn't fuzzy at all. He nearly jumped to his feet as he stood, every sense on high alert. Something was wrong, he could smell the fear on the air, almost taste it, and Dean reveled in the emotion. Fear meant prey, prey meant chase and the ultimate goal, the blood at the end of a chase.

It seemed he could hear everything, now that he wasn't so focused on the sirens. There were people shouting orders, and further in the building, people crying for help. This angered Dean, something was already after his prey.

Baring teeth that no longer resembled anything found in a human mouth, Dean lunged at the door. The hinges groaned but stayed fast. Someone on the other side of the door cursed. Dean snarled and backed away as far as the small room would let him, he waited until the person on the other side settled down before throwing himself at the exit again.

The hinges not only groaned, but screamed as they tore loose from their steel casings. The guard stationed at the door carried on those screams for a few moments before guttering out wetly.

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And where is Sam throughout all this? No one knows... well... I do... 


	15. Power of Moonlight

Woot, chapter 15!

I still don't own them...

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Bloody handprints trailed down the hall, smearing red- nearly black- down the pristine white tiles. Sam clutched his gun tight, hoping that he wouldn't have to use it. Heart in his throat, Sam hoped against hope that he wasn't too late. 

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It took him weeks to find Dean, driving across state from Duchesne to Toole where he heard Dean was sent. Two long weeks of searching and a new arrest warrant out for the younger Winchester's alias. Sam doubted that the doctor would take anymore werewolf patients, or at least he'd think twice before doing it again.

When he got to the compound an alarm rose up almost immediately; but they weren't expecting someone to break in, they were only prepared for a breakout. From there it took only a few seconds to find the large room where the "patients" were kept.

The room itself was in chaos. People rallied to the sound of the alarm, fighting off the doctors and nurses. Sam burst into the room, firing his shotgun into the air, freezing the mob.

He scanned the wild and pale faces for his brother. Nothing. The weight of the handgun full of silver shot grew on his hip. He could see the nearly full moon out the window.

"I'm looking for Dean Winchester, possibly going by Dean Wade," Sam's eyed roved the crowd of faces before him. "I know he was brought here."

A black haired girl pushed her way forward. "Did he have blondish hair and green eyes?"

Sam nodded, hoping that she knew where Dean was.

"Would he have been talking about werewolves or something?"

Again, Sam nodded.

"He was in the bed next to me, but they took him away earlier. When he said werewolves I didn't believe him, until this." She pulled the dark hair away from her ears, revealing the pointed tips to Sam.

"Do you know where they took him? Please, I can help you, all of you, but I need to find Dean."

The girl shook her head, "I am not sure where they took him. But _they_ would know." The masses behind her began to part, pushing forward a lone doctor.

The girl grabbed his arm before he could get into a clear area; she was stronger than she first looked. Sam surmised it was because of the relative closeness of the full moon.

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"Honestly, I have to tell you that I am not comfortable with you coming along with me," Sam frowned down at the girl. He held one arm of the doctor while she held the other.

"Why would I let you walk away with my only ticket out of here? He's our hostage, they aren't gonna shoot us if we make sure they know we've got him."

The girl had a point, but Sam was still uncomfortable with her presence. It was more than a macho sense of chivalry, he wasn't sure what state Dean would be in, but he also worried about having a symptomatic werewolf near him.

"Which way?" Sam yanked on the man's arm.

"Turn here," it was only with threats of pain that they were able to get the doctor to tell them anything at all. "You won't get away you know, they'll never let you through, with or without me."

The girl, Breena Sam had learned, shoved the doctor against the wall, taking Sam with him. "Why not?"

Angry and afraid grey eyes met up with her furious blue. She placed her other hand over his throat and squeezed, Sam could feel the seconds slip away. "You need to be studied," he spat. "You think we are the only facility like this? The government wants you people, they want to use you."

Sam opened his mouth to ask why but he was cut off by a gurgling scream further down the labyrinthine hall. "Get out, now, take him if you need to," Sam turned and ran down the hall.

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Sam pulled a flashlight out of his pocket, sliding a red cover on the lens to prevent the loss of his own night vision. He could hear a squealing groan and trained the light on the sound; the door to a nearby cell had exploded outwards and was swaying back and forth on the last nail of the hinge.

The hall before him was a mass of gore; blood pooled on the floor and smeared the walls. Sam could even see some dripping from the ceiling. A sight made even more grisly by the red hue of the light, turning the blood vibrant and the hall into the cave of some beast.

There were at least six bodies on the floor, none of which Sam thought were living anymore. A few had limbs missing; one by the door of the cell looked not so much ravaged as chewed upon. It was missing most of its throat, the meat around the gaping hole ragged and torn.

With a final squeal the door came loose and landed on this body with a squelch. Hiding the rends and tears in the flesh that could not have been made by human teeth and claws.

Trails of blood led further into the dark before Sam. He pushed his uncertainty away and followed, gripping his gun tightly in hand. He hoped Dean wasn't the one causing this carnage. He hoped he wasn't too late.

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Can we get a bum bum buuuuuuuuuum. I really was planning on finishing here, but I think ya'll can wait. I mean, only two reviews last chapter? Come on people... 

Anywho, thanks so much to lilgurlgreen and alantie for being the only reviewers of the last two chapters!


	16. I Will Follow You Through the Dark

Finally it is done, after nearly two years :p Here is the last chapter! w00t, thanks to all those who reviewed and enjoyed the ride along the way. It was a trip and a half.

Ya'll have Alantie to thank for me not ending it on a major cliffhanger like I wanted to... twice... I showed her two copies of what I thought I might end it with and she threatened bodily harm if I ended them that way. So here is the final thing... maybe if I feel like it I will revise it and what not, but for now it is done!

Standard disclaimers apply

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"Dean?" Sam's voice echoed down the dark hall. He followed the dark smears, every turn in the hallway bringing his heart further into his throat, worried that the trail might disappear and he'd be left to wander this labyrinth on nothing more than his wish to find Dean.

"Where are you man…?" He turned an upcoming corner and froze. The sounds of ripping flesh crashed to his ears followed by a gluttonous chocking sound as something further down the hall swallowed something large and wet.

He held his breath as the red light slid over the hunched form of Dean. His brother spun when the light touched him, snarling into the silhouette of Sam.

Dean was only recognizable as Dean because Sam knew his brother so well; to anyone else he would have looked completely alien, a new life form. Dean's eyes were a bright pumpkin orange and appeared to glow from within, like a pair of jack-o-lanterns. His face was elongated, still recognizably humanoid but more canine, a muzzle stretching his features into something meaner and more demented than a human ever could be. His teeth no longer fit in a human mouth. A hairless tail curled down to rest between Dean's clawed feet and talons tipped each of his fingers, each digit capped in blood. Sam shuddered as his flashlight turned the crimson staining his brother's face to black as it dripped onto the already gore stained hospital Johnny Dean was wearing.

"Dean, I…" Sam didn't know what he planned on saying, breaking off as Dean dropped the piece of flesh between his hands and leapt towards Sam.

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Flesh, all would be right after he consumed enough life sustaining meat so that he could go find a pack. The still warm blood coated his tongue, helping to quench his red thirst.

This prey was far too easy for him to catch; he hoped the next he found would prove more challenging.

His ears perked, something was coming up behind him. Something walking with wary feet to his feeding ground, "Dean?" the voice echoed down the hall towards him. He could smell the fear before this particular prey came around the corner, a tight and sour smell opposing the tangy metallic sent of the blood surrounding him.

He pulled his hands from the mess before him, coming away with a particularly meaty prize as he debated what to do with this new possible threat.

He felt the light hit his back and turned snarling into it. He couldn't see what was behind the light, but the fear smell was coming from it. If he had fur, his hackles would have stood on end.

He was dominate, this one would have to learn that too.

He leapt. Claws stretched out for the kill.

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Sam stood, shocked as Dean flew at him. His brother didn't seem to recognize him at all. In the distance, Sam's hand rose, aiming the gun at his brother. He felt the pressure of the trigger against someone else's fingertip. The kick from the gun was braced by someone else.

Glittering in the light, Sam thought he saw the glint of silver in its flight through the dark. The force with which it slammed into Dean, catching him in mid-flight, Sam watched as Dean tumbled backwards through the air and landed heavily on top of the body behind him.

In the reverberating silence after the shot, a hand shot out from behind Sam. It clutched his shoulder and shook a couple of times before Sam was able to make out what Breena was telling him. Sam felt like he was going to faint.

"Was that Dean?" She stopped by Sam long enough to make sure he was going to stay upright before walking over towards Dean. Sam's glazed eyes tracked down to the smoking gun still in his hand. At least he'd remembered to use the right one.

The body of his brother didn't move. Not even a twitch from the clawed hands.

"I have to go get him, I can't…" Sam was going to finish with 'leave him here', but he never got the chance.

Breena was already leaned over Dean. Sam wanted to warn her not to get too near, if Dean were in his right mind he would have been the one to add 'haven't you seen any scary movies?' But that Dean wasn't here.

Breena tried to scream as Dean's claw, previously unmoving, shot out and grabbed her throat. Sam could see the talons dig into her flesh, but she couldn't pull away.

His legs suddenly came unglued from the floor and Sam ran, crossing the dozen feet between himself and Dean in a few steps.

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The pain he felt was immense, was this thing poisonous? He wasn't sure, but he could feel something leaking from his wound into his own blood.

He wanted a harder prey to catch and this one proved to be just that. Whatever he was hit with knocked the wind from his lungs and made it so he couldn't move his arm.

He could feel his heart in the wound as his body already struggled to heal itself.

He sensed the figure over him, it didn't seem like it was expecting him to fight. The element of surprise was always an advantage and he would use it.

His hand shot out and silently clutched at the exposed throat before him. Something stayed him from taking the final steps and tearing the throat before him out. This wasn't the creature that attacked him, its smell was different, his rage was for the one who caused him the pain.

He roared as his body shot into a crouching position. The silhouetted creature that attacked him was near now; he threw the other body towards it and flung himself to the side. His muscles tensed to fight, but his mind debated if he should run. Already he could feel his strength ebbing as whatever he was attacked with took its toll.

Coughing gasps reached his ears and words that he thought he used to know what they meant followed. Neither of his attackers moved towards him. He couldn't tell if it was a trap or not.

The taller of the two creatures broke away. It approached him slowly, murmuring something that he couldn't understand. The tone wasn't threatening, he couldn't be sure.

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Even in the dark Sam could see the large red welts in Breena's throat, but she assured him that she was okay.

He turned to his brother, disheartened to see that nothing about him had changed. In fact, as Sam watched Dean's mouth opened even wider with the sounds of bones cracking and shifting, it seemed as if Dean was changing even further.

The dart stuck up out of Dean's collarbone still, quivering with Dean's muscles. Sam wasn't sure how fast the herbs were supposed to work or if this meant that he was too late. He hesitated in front of Dean, speaking softly to him. His last resort wasn't an option he wanted to take, but he worried that he might have to.

Growling low in his chest, Dean tensed even further, preparing to lunge. Sam knew that he would not be able to shoot his brother, he would die here.

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With preternatural speed, Breena snatched the gun in Sam's waistband. She could see that he was hesitating, was going to let the creature attack him first.

She fired twice at the rapidly approaching body, one bullet striking low in the leg while the other hit it in the hip, once again sending the creature tumbling backwards to the floor.

Sam screamed his brother's name rushing to the prone form on the floor. Breena could see that already he was changing back into a human.

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One month later

Sam's eyes opened to the bright sun that would preclude the full moon tonight. He sighed as he sat up, remembering the events that happened over the last lunar revolution. He hoped this one was not nearly as eventful.

The motel was just outside of the New Jersey state line and it was rumored that another facility was near by. Action needed to be taken to make this fact a memory.

"Dean, come on man, we gotta get moving," Sam rolled over to see his brother on the next bed. He was glad to note that Dean's eyes were their usual green, no hint of the bright orange that consumed it a month ago.

Dean grumbled in his half awake state, stumbling from the bed and to the bathroom. Sam could see the livid scar in his leg left by the silver bullet and smirked at how Breena's bad aim probably saved his brother's life.

The less than lethal shots she fired weakened the werewolf enough for the herbs to work effectively.

Thinking of Breena reminded Sam that he needed to call her and see how she was doing with the other facilities.

"Hey man," Dean's voice floated out to him from the bathroom. "How bout we get us some breakfast first, I can smell those hot cakes from down the street."

Sam froze, sniffing the air slightly. He couldn't smell anything except the slight disinfectant that the motel used.

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can we get a hoorah! It is done! 


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